


The Crush of Cthulhu

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Cthulhu Mythos - H. P. Lovecraft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-25
Updated: 2007-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-25 03:34:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1629353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Story by psychomachia</p><p>A Tragick Story of Star-Crossed Lovers, Madness, Loss, Betrayal, and Tentacles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Crush of Cthulhu

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks go to H.P. Lovecraft and the numerous Harlequin novels I read in my grandparents' garage.
> 
> Written for Gryvon

 

 

_"Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn"_

_"For never was a story of more woe Than this of Juliet and her Romeo."_

Happy is the man who has never delved within the forbidden mysteries of life. Lucky is the man who has never encountered things man was not meant to know. Blessed is the man who has never born witness to unmentionable horrors that dwell in the darkness, under the trappings of civilized society, beyond the reaches of man's grasp and reckoning. 

I am not such a man and this is my story. 

One day, while I was pondering over many strange and curious tomes of occult lore and arcane knowledge, I heard a knock upon my door. It was most unexpected, for I had just retired for the evening and was expecting no further callers. It seemed a quite inappropriate hour to make such a demand upon my time and I had determined to inform my visitor of such a fact.

I donned my robe, lit a lamp, and unlatched the door, prepared to send away promptly whoever was at my door. The appearance of my nocturnal visitor, however, caused my words to stop in my throat.

He was a wizened old man, who wore a black cloak that concealed his garb. One gnarled hand clutched a cane, with esoteric, mystical symbols engraved all upon it that I swore I had seen once in a dusty tomb in the valleys of Egypt. The other hand was still raised as he had evidently been readying himself to knock again.

Upon seeing me, he gave me a fixed look with his piercing green eyes and my blood immediately turned to ice. I had no doubt that this man, whomever he was, meant to bring me news of a most unquiet nature. 

The man spoke, his voice raspy but resonant. "Are you Daniel Armitage? The same scholar who now teaches at Miskatonic University? For if you are so, than I have something I must impart to you tonight."

I hesitated, rightly fearing that to assent to this would lead me to knowledge I was not yet ready to understand. Yet, I knew how I must answer. "Yes, I am that very same man."

The man's face did not change at this answer. "I have heard you are a man of great wisdom and perception. There are many fools whom I have attempted to tell my story to, but they think me mad or lying. I must have your word that you will listen to me and make no protestations about my story until I am finished."

Such a promise I did not wish to make upon blind faith of this stranger, but I was more eager to hear his tale, for his words had flattered me and it was clear that he had much of interest to tell me. "I swear that no matter what I hear tonight, I will keep my tongue still." 

He nodded briefly and I moved aside to admit him entrance into my study. He did not take off his cloak, preferring instead to gingerly seat himself atop a leather armchair and clutch his cane. I sat down opposite him and waited for him to speak. 

"The tale I am about to relate is a horrible one. It has dark pacts made with hideous creatures, things too twisted for the human mind to comprehend, and horrors beyond the stars who willfully violate the laws of Euclidean geometry."

The man bent his head down sorrowfully and I could feel the fear still emanating from him. He stood there, for what seemed to be aeons, and I could sense he was trying to build up his strength to tell me something, something that would forever scar my sanity, leaving my mind a pale shadow of what used to be. 

He finally raised his head, and in a most doleful and anguished tone, he whispered three terrifying words that indeed, would later send me into a cataleptic state and a prolonged stay in Arkham's most prominent asylum. These words, I remember even now, as he uttered them and then stared at me with agony in his eyes. 

"It has sex." 

\-----

"It is a fact unknown to most scholars in our area of study, save those of the most perverse rites who dare not show their face in the sun, that among the Great Old Ones, the Elder and Outer Gods, and all who serve these alien creatures, there exist twisted partnerships between them that transcend those of master and servitor or allies in a cosmic war. These partnerships can only bring doom to anyone involved them or who witness their unholy couplings."

In my time, I have heard of the abhorrent rites of several unnamable cults whose ceremonies summon creatures to perform acts of vile depravity and deviancy under the watchful eye of Yog-Sothoth. I have read of the marriage of Dagon and Hydra, whose children corrupt the folk in Innsmouth upon their parent's bidding. I have seen the bond of Azathoth and the dark messenger Nyarlathotep, who seems to serve many, but only truly belongs to one. 

Foolishly, I had believed I knew all there was to know about these creatures and their habits. I had the largest library in the world on the very same subject. You would not believe what I possessed. I had memorized the _Necronomicon_ , pored over _De Vermis Mysteriis_ , made annotations on _Unaussprechlichen Kulten_. Arrogantly I thought there was nothing left in mortal tongue that I did not know. 

It was a night much like this, many years ago, when I received a package upon my doorstep. There was no return address on it and I could see dark stains spotting the paper wrapping it. Some may have left such a thing alone, but I was familiar with boxes arriving in odd condition, having traveled a great deal around the world. I thought perhaps it might be the carved alabaster statue from Tibet that I had left for a companion to send to me when I returned home. 

It was not the statue. Instead, it was a book of a most peculiar nature. The binding seemed to be made of some dark, slick skin that soaked up the lamplight I shone upon it. The clasp was broken, but I could see where there had once been an engraving of that seven-pointed star that all fellow scholars of these things know. I could not fathom who would send me such a book, but I knew I must read it. 

Oh that I had not, for the pages within the book were the most deranged. There were pictures I dare not describe too much, for they were of limbs and wings and tentacles in places they should not be. There were songs that could only be sung by alien tongues and poems that had no rhyme or reason to them. There was also the tale, which I shall now relate to you, for it was the most appalling of what I saw. It was a tongue I knew too well as that of the cultists I had met in New Orleans whose vile language I found myself translating from as I read the book. 

*****

'Great Cthulhu lay dreaming in his city of R'lyeh and awaiting the days when the stars would be right and he would rise. He spent aeons in slumber, removed from the other gods and their machinations. Species came and went and still Cthulhu slept. Man grew to dominate the earth and to conquer its most desolate of places with his devices and his will. It was inevitability that he would discover the Master of R'lyeh. 

It was men who first came across the island when the stars were right and who opened the door to his tomb. He awoke and destroyed them through the most grisly of ways. The Great Old One had not accounted on man's resourcefulness, however, and he found that even as he had killed the pitiful things that dared to attack him, they had succeeded in trapping him on the island through his wings, which were ripped by tools he had never seen before.

He roared and called out his anger, causing those even hundreds of miles away in their beds to shake with a fear they could not explain. No one answered him, for the Great Old Ones are a solitary and contentious lot and they prefer to work for their own ends than assist their brethren. No one called back to him, that is, until he heard a soft cry in the distance of something inhuman and strange. It echoed his pain and he called for it to come forth, that he might know it.

The men, in their impetus to seize all they saw and either make it their own or destroy it, had captured a Dark Young of that Black Goat, Shub-Niggurath, during a ritual ceremony in a ruined and obscure woodland temple. The creature they had captured had been freed during the men's panic when they futilely attempted to arm themselves against a Great Old One. This Dark Young had escaped and in its confusion, it had made its way to Cthulhu's realm, searching for his mother. 

When Great Cthulhu saw the Dark Young, he was displeased. Deep Ones serve Cthulhu, not the spawn of Shub-Niggurath and there was very little the Dark Young could do to assist him. The creature's mother had her own secrets, ones he was not privy to and to see the mighty Cthulhu in a weakened state might have pleased her greatly. 

The Great Old One prepared to devour the interloper, when it tentatively cried out at him. The Dark Young, through numerous grunts and speech incomprehensible to most, conveyed that it was merely lost and wished to have a place to recover before attempting to summon its mother and return to the place beyond the stars. 

It is unclear why Cthulhu allowed this creature to sway his dread purpose. He has never shown pity to his prey or weakness to his enemies. It may have been that he believed the creature would serve him in some yet unknown capacity. It may have been that in his injured state he knew he must conserve his strength before dispatching his foe. There may have been a reason that we may never understand. Nevertheless, Cthulhu did allow him to remain and that is where much sadness lies. 

No man is an island, it is said, and those who are alone on an island may find the solitude too much to bear. As Cthulhu healed, he became aware that the Dark Young on the island was a most appealing creature indeed. It is believed that all of Shub-Niggurath's young look the same, but this child seemed to be more intelligent, more regal, and more flexible with its tentacles. Cthulhu found himself feeling something most peculiar indeed. 

He found himself unable to be around the creature. It was difficult to avoid him, given Cthulhu's enormity and the limits of R'lyeh, but the Great Old One sunk himself as deep as he could go, to escape the Dark Young and his own thoughts. Days passed such as this and Cthulhu allowed himself to believe that his abhorrent thoughts had slipped into nothingness. 

The Dark Young, however, had been intrigued by Cthulhu from the moment he had arrived on R'lyeh and sought him out on purpose, wishing to understand such majesty. The Old One's name was whispered on countless lips by cultists, victims, and creatures alike, and it had long been the Dark Young's desire to find such a wondrous being and compare it to its own great mother. That Cthulhu was so splendid struck the Dark Young with much clarity and what had started as worship grew into attraction. Thus, he descended into the depths of R'lyeh in search of the Great Old One to confess his own shameful desires. 

Cthulhu had been dreaming when he felt a gentle touch upon his wing. He thought it part of the dream and arched it, whereupon the touch became firmer and he awoke to its caress. The creature stared up at him and Cthulhu met its gaze with his own bulbous eyes. There passed something between them that humanity may have recognized from their own experience had they been able to lay eyes upon the creatures without dying or going instantly mad. As it was, the Great Old One knew what he had felt from the creature and knew that his own thoughts were not illusions, but possibilities. He made his decision and it would echo throughout the rest of time. 

Tentacles tentatively touched tentacle then entwined in writhing pleasure. Claws raked along rippling skin, wings flapped in new sensation The Dark Young had never experienced such sensations with his kin, and eagerly he sought out Cthulhu for more of these curious feelings. Though mighty Cthulhu could crush his mate's body with his size, he tenderly touched the Dark Young and allowed it to curiously explore his massive frame. Ichors poured from their bodies, dripping into the ocean and killing its life for miles around. 

That two creatures could mate such as this seems to be a product of a fever dream, a delusion or a delirium caused by some previous insanity. To have looked upon it would have driven those not of their kind into some forgiving oblivion. They would not have cared, for their coupling filled them with such new life that if they had not already been prepared to annihilate the universe, they would have done so to prove their love for each other.

Indeed the days passed in great happiness and experimentation. Oh, halcyon days when everything seems to be a wonder and discoveries can be made that change young men or creatures forever! The two were inseparable as Cthulhu told his mate of the many aeons he had lived and what planets he had devoured and the Dark Young spoke of his brothers and the sacrifices they had ravaged for their mother's sake. Such stories filled the time in between when they coupled with fervent passion and what had started as merely biological turned into something greater. 

The Great Old One began to plan for the days ahead when his strength would be complete, the alignment of the stars would be correct, and he would be able to leave his island to fulfill his dark desires. Before, he had always imagined himself alone in his supremacy. Now he planned for it with a companion, someone to share in the joys of devastation. 

What wondrous things Cthulhu had imagined he would share with his new love. They would swim down in the depths of the sea where only he and Dagon had dared to go (ah! such memories of youth). They would watch as fires consumed those pitiful churches that men stupidly thought would keep them safe from his horrid reign. They would ravage all who lay before them and the world will bow down to their awesome power. 

Perhaps, they would find a method to have offspring, who would bring horror of their own. Cthulhu knew well of the delights Dagon and Hydra experienced in raising their brood of Deep Ones, and he could imagine a day in which his own children would plague mankind. Such thoughts filled the Great Old One with a glee he had previously only felt aeons ago, in places no man would ever set foot. His days grew even happier and it seemed nothing would separate the dread one and his love. 

Nevertheless, everything, living or dead, must pay a price for happiness and even the Master of R'lyeh was no exception. On one morning, when the stars had changed and Cthulhu had almost regained his strength, the Dark Young tearfully told his mate that Shub-Niggurath, that mother of a thousand young, had found him and had called him home.

Great Cthulhu would have kept his mate with him on R'lyeh, but he knew that Shub-Niggurath was an implacable foe, and he could not go against her until his power was once more at its peak. He bade his mate goodbye, promising that soon they would be reunited in the ruins of this wretched world. His mate left him with a farewell touch of a tentacle and then he was gone, summoned by his mother back home. 

Cthulhu resolved to heal himself completely, for he loathed this world under his fellow Old Ones' control. Though Dagon could be trusted, the others could not, and if he were to thwart their plots, he wished to have his mate at his side to witness the grand culmination of aeons of planning. Thus, he slept, and in his sleep, he dreamt. 

In one such dream, he saw his mate, alongside his brethren at a sacrifice with devoted cultists in an unknown woodland where the surrounding trees grew thick and blotted out much of the sky. His mate proclaimed his mother's faith as did his kin, and all was in preparation to worship Shub-Niggurath and devour the non-believers. He was proud of his love, which stood strongly and sternly, preparing to assist in the opening of the way for the Black Goat. 

Then there were men in dark colors carrying unfamiliar weapons that came upon the cultists and slaughtered them, before turning their intentions to the Dark Young. Cthulhu roared out a warning and would have rendered time and space apart to reach him, but the stars had long passed for him to reach beyond his island, and all was in vain. He watched, as his lover was ripped apart by those men whom he despised, those weak things whose advantages lay in trickery, cunning, and strange devices. Those men who sought things they should not know and destroyed what they could not understand. 

Cthulhu raged in R'lyeh, powerless to do nothing under the stars that were no longer his. Earthquakes were felt off the coast of Chile and tsunamis were reported to have destroyed several small uninhabited islands. All was laid waste or barren for miles around in Cthulhu's fury. The other Great Old Ones bowed their heads in recognition of Cthulhu's sorrow and remembered his anger well into the centuries. Shub-Niggurath dared not speak, for she knew Cthulhu's wrath was terrible indeed and she did not wish it upon her as she took on the burden of her own grief. 

It was then that the Great Cthulhu descended back into his cavern to sleep for a time yet unknown and rise when the stars were his and those creatures who were his might set him free. It is said that he also waits the time when he may be reunited with his Dark Young and they may descend upon the world in mutual bliss and terror. They may sleep for now, but a time will come when they shall awaken and all will be theirs. 

Ia! Ia! Cthulhu fhtagn!' 

*****

We may consider ourselves fortunate in this instance, for R'lyeh sunk even further into the sea, leaving no trace of the monolithic monstrosity it had been. Only recently has it been found again by a band of sailors whose fate is too dreadful to remember. We are still fortunate that Cthulhu has not been fully loosed upon the world, but I fear that time is coming soon and his vengeance shall be great.

As for the book, I burned it. No man should have to see such illustrations. Even now, they haunt my brain. By day, I find myself murmuring inexplicable passages and scaring those who I pass on the street. By night, I have sleep fitfully, tormented by nightmares of that island and by a coupling that would send the strongest mind into a state of perpetual derangement and dementia. I know that I have little time left before what I have seen claims my very soul and I must tell this tale to someone in the hopes that he may find a way to stop it from happening. 

I pray that you will be the one to stop this madness from occurring again, but it may already be too late." 

\-----

The man finished speaking and seemed to have aged even further as he sat in the chair, eyes staring dully ahead. For my part, I could not comprehend what he had said, and my mind seemed unable to rest as wild images and new vistas of insanity unfolded within. Neither one of us uttered a word for a long time. 

Then he arose from the chair and made his way to the door. I wished I could say something to stop him, question him about the horrors he had just told me about. However, I had lost the power of speech and I could do nothing as he shuffled out the door, leaving me in a stupor with the lamplight growing low. \

I cannot remember what happened next, but I am told my friend Dr. Quentin Waite found my babbling on my rug of ghastly and degenerate things. He will not tell me the extent of what I said in my ravings, but I have seen him flinch near the waterfront when the fisherman pull out their squids, so I know I must have conveyed some of what I heard. 

It was not until several months later, after I had recovered from my lapse into madness, that I was allowed to read my academic journals once again. Eagerly I pored through them as I had missed much in my time away and I wished to see what new discoveries had been made. There was much that I enjoyed reading, but there was one horrible thing, and this I wished I had never seen.

It was an obituary for one Phillip Wilcox, great-nephew of the noted artist Henry Wilcox, and a renowned world traveler. In his journeys, he had been to the farthest reaches of the continents and had made many ocean trips, including a six-month odyssey aboard a fishing boat in the Pacific Ocean that left his right leg lame. He died of a perplexing accident, the police reported, one in which his body was left horrible mutilated, with strange pockmarks upon the remnants of his body. 

They had primarily identified his remains by his personal effects, including his wallet, located in a deep pocket in his black cloak and his cane, made of mahogany and engraved with symbols the police were unable to identify. I knew at once that this was the man who had come to see me so many months ago and I felt myself reeling as I recalled the last sentence of the report:

"Wilcox had been only 43 when he died."

My relapse into catalepsy stunned the physicians, who informed my family that under no circumstances was I to be allowed near such journals again. When I awoke out of madness for the second time, my family had burnt my journals and anything that they felt to be of a blasphemous or insane nature. It has been only recently that I have been able to compile my research again, and I do so in secret, knowing I must keep my knowledge secure lest those ignorant folk destroy them again. 

Wilcox was right when he said these fools would not believe me. I have tried telling my colleagues what I have learned and all mock me. Some say I am still insane, others say I have foolishly fallen prey to a madman's delusions. In all events, it appears I will not be getting tenure. 

Still, I must get this story out, to warn others of the frightful time that lies ahead. They must know that we are doomed and that the only way to survive an unimaginable future is to prevent the Dread Cthulhu from ever awakening. 

We wise scholars of the arcane know that Cthulhu lies dreaming in deep R'lyeh awaiting the day when the stars will be right and he will arise... arise to wreak havoc upon the world, to bring death and destruction to all who live, and to usher in a new age of utter insanity and chaos.

But what I and I alone know, for all else who have heard this tale have died, is that Cthulhu will arise seeking something else as well.

He will seek love. 

_"That is not dead which can eternal lie. And with strange aeons even death may die."_

 


End file.
